Frank Gullo's Blog, page 3

The Sports Fan in the Arena

Buffalo Bills fans are hurting this week, and understandably so, following the devastating loss to the Kansas City Chiefs in the NFL Divisional Round — and especially due to the manner in which the Bills lost the game after having a lead with 13 seconds remaining. I was numb for hours after the game, struggled to fall asleep, and was listless throughout the day on Monday. The weather in Buffalo piled on, with a cold, gray sky and nuisance snowfall that arrived just in time to impact the commute home.

I compiled the following tips for myself Monday evening to help me move on from the loss but after talking to so many fellow fans, I decided to share in hopes some of the suggestions may be useful to others. Your mileage may vary of course, but this is what has worked for me with past sports heartache and what I’m adhering to now.

24 Hours — Many professional athletes describe a 24-hour window to celebrate a win or scrutinize a loss, after which they move on to the next game and opponent. Similarly, I’ve found after a tough defeat it’s important to give myself 24 hours to analyze, talk about, and process the loss before beginning to detach and move on. The quantity of hours is just a guideline, you may prefer 72 hours or even a whole week. What’s most important is you set a boundary that will help you manage and get past the loss.

Limit Exposure to Information and Opinions — After 24 hours, I make a concerted effort to stay off or limit my time on sports sites and social media. I also do not tune into local sports talk radio when the discussion continues to focus on the game. For me, I’ve found after a certain point, there is no more new or relevant information or opinions, and I’m simply pouring salt in the wound. Similarly, you may want to give yourself the out of not watching some or all of the rest of the (playoff) games. Here I will usually assess how I’m feeling. Sometimes I’ll watch as normally, other times I may have the game on, but in the background while I work on household tasks. I’m not yet sure if I have the stomach to watch the Chiefs again this season.

Help Your Brain Shift Perspective — Research suggests that a sports loss activates the same region of the brain as physical pain, and the greater the stakes of the game (and loss), the worse the pain feels. Similarly, we know that for some people, replaying a painful memory can actually intensify the pain and make the symptoms worse. Turning to other activities and interests other than sports will help prevent your brain from layering on and adding to the painful sports loss memory.

The Glass is Still Full — Remember that even with the absolute worst losses (like this one), the team’s defeat does not tarnish your experiences over the years as a fan. The loss does not undo all of the fun, tailgating, gameday memories, football with family moments, thrilling victories, people you engaged with about the team, and celebrations with the rest of the worldwide Bills community. Sports moments remain special because they and their importance are not diminished when your team loses.

Stand Proudly in Your Arena — Finally, much like the professional athletes I watch, I remind myself that like them I am an individual in my own arena and do not have to answer to anyone mocking my team or listen to their disparaging remarks about the loss, the team, the history of the franchise, or my city. I have come to understand that I do not have to let negativity into my arena. I do not have to justify my Bills fandom because the team lost, or previous teams lost four Super Bowls, or the coaches exercised questionable judgment. It’s my arena and my safe place, for me and my team.

Part of my inspiration for this stance is from Theodore Roosevelt’s famous “Man in the Arena” speech that I feel is important to quote fully here.

Stay strong, Bills Mafia.

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

This article originally appeared on Medium.

9/11: Remembering Dennis Carey

With the 20th anniversary of 9/11, I want to introduce you to Dennis Carey.

Dennis Carey

From all accounts, Dennis Carey loved to cook. One family member recalled that Dennis “put his heart and soul into cooking Thanksgiving dinner, and this is one tradition that we will never forget.” He had every Bon Appetit magazine going back 15 years, and insisted that recipes were to be followed exactly. No improvisations were allowed.

He was lively and fun, and devoted to his wife and children.

Before 9/11, he may have been better known for a night when he was at a Diana Ross concert in Madison Square Garden. During her performance of “Muscle”, Diana picked Dennis out of the audience and had him join her onstage. His picture was in the papers the next day.

I’ve never met Dennis, yet I’ve known him now for over 8 years, even though I met him after he died. We met on a rainy Saturday in June 2013, when I participated in a firefighter obstacle run. This was a firefighter charity event, and my team ran in the 343 Charity Wave, a heat dedicated to firefighters lost on 9/11, with each runner wearing a commemorative racer bib listing the name of a firefighter who lost his life.

Dennis M. Carey.

As a firefighter, in 2001 Dennis was a 20-year Fire Department veteran who was planning to retire the following January when the alarm sounded, and he and other firefighters sped to the Twin Towers. His body was found on September 30 in a stairwell in Tower One where he and his chief were trapped as they were rescuing survivors.

I was humbled and proud to participate in the 343 Wave and wear Dennis M. Carey’s name on my chest. Thank you for reading and taking the time to learn his story.

Why I Finally Stopped Chewing Tobacco

Even if you’ve never tried it yourself, you’ve doubtless seen people doing it. They’re mostly (though not exclusively) men and are recognizable by a bulging cheek or lower lip. The outline of a circular tin is often visible in one of their pockets. The more circumspect ones carry cups or soda bottles unobtrusively and surreptitiously spit into them, while others openly expectorate on the ground as they stand or walk. Specs of blackish-brown are often visible between the teeth. It’s not a habit that stays hidden long.

Nearly 12 years ago, on September 20, 2008, I quit smokeless chewing tobacco. Before that, I had been chewing off and on (mostly on) since 1988, when I was a junior in high school. 20 years of chewing, which translates to over 1,000 weeks and more than 7,000 days in which I put a pinch of tobacco in my mouth between my teeth and gum line.

I’m not proud of my chewing and have never written about it before, but I felt compelled to write and share in the hopes that others who chew or with a similar habit may come across this and understand that they’re not alone and can quit, even if they’ve been doing it for many years. If I am proud of anything, it’s that I’ve never relapsed in the almost 12 years since I stopped. I wish I could say it’s because of my indomitable will or resolve, but it’s more because I’ve established set routines in my life such that I’m almost never around people who chew and where I might be tempted. Habits definitely keep you going, to paraphrase Jim Rohn. I remember, though, how easy it was to begin …

It started in high school. I played sports and a number of my friends chewed. They used to roll up a few sheets of paper into makeshift spittoons and dip (slang for chewing) in the stairwells. They would also chew after football or wrestling practice, walking home in groups, varsity jackets, and chew. One day, after months of observing a couple of my friends chew and working up the resolve, I asked if I could try. My friend who I’ll call Tim handed over a green plastic tin with white lettering.

For the unfamiliar, while most smokeless chew is packaged as “loose” tobacco that looks a lot like wet coffee grounds, pouch tobacco comes in pellet sized one gram pouches. Little bags of tobacco, basically. As consuming most loose tobacco is messy, pouches are cleaner, but also far less potent. Starter chew, basically.

I extracted two pouches from the tin and inserted them in the lower left side of my mouth, snugly between my back molars and cheek. Almost immediately, I felt juices mix with saliva and a soft buzz. It was a warm, pleasant sensation that made me feel invigorated and relaxed. Who knew chewing tobacco produced this kind of high? The sensation peaked after about 10 minutes but I knew I wanted to experience the feeling again.

I didn’t immediately start chewing every day. Initially, I would do it only when I was with my friends who were regular users and I would occasionally “bum” pouches. Eventually, I started buying my own tins. At first, it was weekly, but it wasn’t long before I was consuming a tin a day. For the first few weeks, I would still feel a buzz when I dipped, but it gradually lessened until I no longer consciously felt the high.

One day I expressed this to Tim who had graduated to chewing loose tobacco and he suggested I try that for more potency. I pinched a hefty amount of the dark loose tobacco, put it in my mouth, and the buzz came back, ten-fold. It was so strong, I gagged at first and almost vomited, a rite of passage I would learn is common among beginning chewers. I would also discover in time that accidentally swallowing tobacco juice would produce similar gagging or retching.

I became a habitual, daily chewing tobacco user. I chewed every day, at different times and places. In the morning, in the car, when playing video games, while traveling, while socializing with friends, after meals, when watching movies or sports, when reading, after (never during) dates, after playing sports, on the way to and from bars, and in the evening. Sometimes I chewed with friends and fellow users, but mostly I chewed alone. Smokeless tobacco in effect became my constant companion, a reliable source of comfort and calm. For many years, I avidly played computer games, and I recall gaming and chewing well into the night. My buzz from chewing receded in time and time and eventually disappeared completely, but it didn’t matter: I was hooked.

Smokeless tobacco stayed with me through high school, college, grad school, several relationships and moves of residence, a series of cars, my wedding, and even the birth of my daughter. If the collective chew from my formative and early adult years could be interviewed, it could tell you more about me than anyone from those days. It knew when I was happy or sad, when and where I liked to position my dip cups, when enough time had passed after a meal for prime tobacco absorption, and—most importantly—when I needed that routine or stress-relieving fix to take the edge off. Fortunately, in the 1990s and 2000s, chew was always in constant supply, usually behind the counter at gas station convenience marts, which I would frequent at all hours, so I never had to wait or travel far to feed my habit.

About the only time I didn’t chew, and took pains to hide all traces of it, was when I was around whoever I was seeing romantically. While I’d heard that some women accepted chewing and even did it themselves, this was not the case with any of my girlfriends. At best, they tolerated my chewing for stretches to keep the peace. But over time, they were increasingly put off by the habit, with the spitting, dip cups, loose bits on my hands and under my fingernails, remnants in my teeth, and the acrid smell. And they especially feared the health risks, which ominously included gum disease and mouth cancer.

This led naturally to my compartmentalizing and hiding my chewing from not only my girlfriends but everyone in my network, except my friends who also did it and wouldn’t judge. If chewing was not socially acceptable, I would do it alone or among my tribe of chewers who shared my habit and shame. I also scrupulously hid any traces of it, carefully discarding spit cups and brushing and flossing my teeth five, six, or even ten or more times a day. I had become like a Lady Macbeth of smokeless tobacco users, muttering “Out damn spots of tobacco,” as I vainly struggled to brush away every speck of tobacco.

Of course, I couldn’t brush away the reality that I was addicted and deep down I knew chewing was a dangerous, unhealthy habit on many levels and there were many times when I would realize this and try to quit. Sometimes, I would be inspired by a resolution or new healthy lifestyle kick. Other times, I’d feel frightened into action, after seeing a particularly graphic image of a patient missing half his jaw or reading about cancer and facing intimations of my own mortality. Still, chew was always there after the initial shock or motivation to quit diminished and remained as a patient friend who always welcomed me back, whether it was after a day, week, or longer.

In the end, it was my subconscious that provided the impulse and resolve to quit. The moment came jarringly through a dream. It was a few days after my daughter’s first birthday and in the dream, she was a few years older, perhaps 5 or 6, and I was in her bedroom with her, but I was fixed in place and only able to observe. In the dream, she looked through me at a picture on her dresser of the two of us, me holding her when she was a baby, and her eyes welled up with deep tears.

I tried to break free to walk toward her and speak but I remained rooted in place and could not shift or make a sound, for my mouth and jaw were gone. In my dream state, I realized I was departed and had passed, taken by my constant companion chew.

I woke up in a cold sweat, terrified and shaken. All at once, I wanted to weep for my dream self who would miss so much but also thank him and my subconscious for the jolt that I needed.

As I started my day, I processed the dream into action, and I knew I was going to quit.

The feeling was similar to the scene from the film “Fight Club” when Tyler Durden points a gun at a young store clerk. With the clerk on his knees begging for his life, Tyler asks him what he wanted to do in his life, and the clerk responded that he always wanted to become a veterinarian but never found the time.

After more conversation, Tyler takes the clerk’s driver’s license and tells him, “I’m keeping your license. I’m gonna check in on you. I know where you live. If you’re not on your way to becoming a veterinarian in six weeks, you will be dead. Now run on home.”

After the terrified clerk flees, Tyler says, “Tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of Raymond K. Hessel’s life. His breakfast will taste better than any meal you and I have ever tasted.”

Indeed. But it’s not exactly that life tastes better without chew. Even after all these years since I quit, I can easily recall the sweet and mild wintergreen taste against my gums, tobacco juice washing over, with happiness. But while chew created the perfect lining that at once tasted great, it also acted as a barrier between me and the world. Chew was ultimately that cool but codependent friend, a little dangerous, who made me feel whole and enough, but really was suffocating me.

What’s different since I quit is I’m now able to handle all the many tastes of life on my own and with if not universal contentment than at least acceptance.

“Walk away and taste the pain
Come again some other day
Aren’t you glad you weren’t afraid
Funny how the price gets paid”

~~ from “Taste The Pain” by Red Hot Chili Peppers

This article originally appeared on The Good Men’s Project.

Last One to Bid Turn Off the Lights

Two years ago, Date on Purpose was launched to combine online dating and meaningful giving. I imagined a scalable platform that would one day evolve where a visitor would pick a charity of his or her choice, and then bid on a date in a nearby city to support the cause.

So I launched a startup to bring the traditional bachelor/bachelorette auction online to allow people to bid on dates with eligible singles.

With a small core team and many volunteers but no funding, we spoke to many charities, built a website and social media presence, and recruited dozens of men and women to bring the concept to life. Our initial online charity concluded in a semi-formal live launch event on October 18, 2013, and I'm proud to say the event was a success and a really, really good time.

Date and Purpose is proud to have tried something different in the online dating space – but, above all, we’re grateful for the community of charities, partners, bachelors, bachelorettes, bidders, and visitors who supported us. It's been a joy to see an idea grow from dream to reality – and be able to help worthy charities raise money.

Although we succeeded in many ways, we also faced obstacles and were not able to overcome the challenges that would enable us to continue. We tried our best, but regretfully, we have made the difficult decision to cease operations. Date on Purpose will officially close its doors on December 19, 2015.

We say goodbye, and thank you. It was our privilege to create something new and give back.

This article originally appeared on LinkedIn.

Lake Effect Life Lessons

Photo by Tony Dvorak

I dislike disruptions as much as the next person. I don’t like when plans change due to factors beyond my control or I’m inconvenienced unduly because of weather. Generally, in these instances, I try to remind myself that things sometimes happen unexpectedly to everyone and it does little good to get angry or upset at events you can’t change.

This winter, though, it’s been a challenge to maintain perspective and patience in the wake of so many weather-related disruptions. This is because I live just outside Buffalo, NY, in one of those persistent Great Lake snow bands that has produced impressive and at times paralyzing amounts of snow. In a historic snowfall in November, for example, nearly six feet of snow fell in the span of a few days, closing roads and schools for almost a week.

“If you don’t like it, move,” some people comment, and that is indeed what some people do, for whom the snow and cold is too much. Snowbirds leave for Florida during the winter and return in the late Spring, and others relocate permanently to cities with milder climates. But every locale has its challenges. If it’s not snow, it’s hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, drought, or wildfires. We all chose where we live for a multitude of reasons, and weather and natural environment are two reasons among many.

Still, we can’t help but be shaped by the lessons the weather bestows upon us in our local communities. Amid another lake effect snow warning in my community this past weekend that again resulted in road and school closures, I was shoveling snow in 8 degree (Fahrenheit) weather when I realized just how much I have learned from lake effect snow.

Let Go - As someone who’s very organized and looks forward to planned events and activities, it can be difficult for me to change course or revise actions quickly. But in snow emergencies, plans matter little and sometimes you really have no choice but to cancel, sit back, and plan to try again another day. Of course, disruptions occur and plans fall through for all sorts of reasons that have nothing to do with snow, but it’s thanks to many years of lake effect that I’m now usually able to take these unexpected changes in stride.

Come Together - Whenever there’s a pounding snow storm that shuts down roads and buries vehicles, I marvel at how neighbors and strangers come together to help one another. People push, pull, heave, and shovel to help motorists who are stuck until the vehicle can drive off. Neighbors check on neighbors, go to the store and get groceries or medicine, and help snow-blow or shovel out driveways. In my case, during the November storm, I was shoveling out my car when (unprompted) my neighbor joined in. As we worked together, I realized that in nine months he and I had barely acknowledged one another. That day, we talked for over an hour and I learned he was from Macedonia, was used to winter but had never seen a storm like this before, and how he and his wife ended up in America. The experience made me recall a lyric from the popular Alan Jackson song about 9/11, “Where Were You (When The World Stopped Turning)”:

Did you notice the sunset the first time in ages
Or speak to some stranger on the street?

Perhaps, I thought, we should all only debate political matters while working together in emergencies.

Know Your Limits - Heavy snowfall can be dangerous in all sorts of ways and it forces you to assess your limits. Are you physically fit enough to shovel snow in frigid temperatures? Are the roads too snowy and treacherous for you to make the commute? How does your vehicle perform on snow and ice? What are your limits? Do you know?

Innovate - Lake effect storms sometimes close schools, and as a parent this forces you to think, often out of the box. You may have to call upon a family member or neighbor to watch your child or you may have to work remotely with your child at home (and rapidly develop plan to keep your child occupied while you're working). There are always multiple solutions to problems, with lake effect often an unexpected mother of efficiency.

Lake Effect Lemonade - When life gives you two feet of lake effect snow, the path of acceptance is often to explore different ways to make lemonade. Enjoy side streets with no traffic and snowshoe down the road, make a snowman, sled off your porch or down a hill, carry your child on your shoulders as you walk through three foot-high snow drifts to the corner store, and -- when you've had enough -- go back inside and have some hot chocolate (or lemonade, if you prefer).

Identity - Where we live is part of our identity and personal brand, and others will form opinions and comment based on what they read and perceive. Part of the image of Buffalo is that of a snow city, and many of my fellow citizens bristle at jokes and jeers and are quick to correct how, technically, it’s really the towns south of the city that get most of the snow. Look, just like ultimately it doesn't matter what people think of you, it also doesn't matter what people think of your city. Celebrate yourself and those who adore you and visit you. Own and accept the lake effect distinction because, as long as you are here, it is part of you.

I have lived in the Buffalo, NY region for most of my life and have been indelibly shaped by lake effect snow. The above are just a few of the lake effect life lessons I have learned. What are yours?

This article originally appeared on LinkedIn.